Dada 103

‘What interests me is you! There are certain things about you that I cannot comprehend.’ He added that he was sure I would help him understand what I had done for the reputation of this island.

I said that was very simple. He encouraged me to go on, what I had done that day, at the beach, the coming  back to the city in the rain, the club, the drugs wearing off when we were  all coming down,  happened by chance one fateful Sunday. Did the fight start then, among the light, the darkness, the loud voices, when all you wanted was a little peace after your sailing away with the drugs.’ He asked.

‘Is that how it started’ he wanted to know... ‘Did you sail away with the drugs ?’

After every statement he would say, good, hum, good, hum, like a prayer. When I got to the part where the two bodies were laid out on the floor, he nodded in approval put down his pen and said, ‘so that’s it.’

I nodded. I was tired of telling the same story, over and over again. I felt like I had never talked so much. Even at the markets with the shouting and roaring all day never made my voice or my head feel as swollen and fatigued as this.

He stood up. There was a moment’s silence. The policeman said he wanted to help me, he really did. He found me interesting and with God’s help he could do something for me. First he wanted to ask me a few more questions. Without pausing, he asked me if I really loved Dada.

I said ‘yes, of course, ‘like everyone else.

The clerk at that moment must have made a mistake because he muttered and sighed and had to go back to his original place. He must have eaten early because I smelled onion on his breath.

After his corrections there was a period of quiet before we carried on. Then for no apparent reason, the Detective asked me why I had kept on using the knife even when both bodies lay motionless before me. I thought about it and explained that I had used the knife only the once, the rest was just a reaction like when you cut off a fishes head and it still wriggles about until the nerves die. It was the same with my hand. I was about to tell him what happens at the market; the frenzy of blood and silver seeping through the wicker fish baskets just after the dawn but he did not seem interested.

‘Why did you wait between the second and third time you used the weapon’ the policeman asked.

I told him that I was breathless when I caught the second man and the knife was all part of the same action. I didn’t stand a moment to catch my breath and then proceed to stab him. Funnily enough, I could see it now as a film, the beach, then the rain, the music of the night, the little explosions of delight in side me, with the darkness and the shouting, then the slap, the lightning slap of those in command of our history or jurisprudence. But this time I kept silent. I didn’t reply nor offer an opinion during this entire silence.Tthe pressure of the day after the flooding of light and morning calm kept my tongue still. You could feel the clouds gather on the skyline and begin to come lower over the trees but I still remained quiet, calm even.

 ‘Why did you stab a man who was already dead?’